Monday, October 31, 2005

The Day Before...

(B. Schatz)

NaNoWriMo is beginning tomorrow.

And everyone is taking a deep breath. Out of both the contributors, Dougie and I are both writing a contribuion (mine being serialized on this very site while his being located RIGHT HERE), and some of our friends are attempting as well.

What I hope to do is keep you comprised of ALL of our progress (permission pending, of course), and look around for other notable NaNoWriMo productions that are going on.

On top of writing The Everlast, that is.

Yes, it's probably not the smartest thing to do, but hey. I can do what I want *grins*.

We'll see you all here tomorrow!!!

(On an unrelated note, this is this blog's 50th post. Sadly, that more than any other blog I've ever done...)

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The Crap Box - Halloween Special

(B. Schatz)

The Crap Box.
An exploration of the hard-to-find gems and the discarded thoughts better left un-thought.

Welcome to The Crap Box.

What I hope this will become is a venue for anyone who becomes a contributor at this site to trot out a dusty old relic from their files, and ruminate on the thought process behind it.

This time around in The Crap Box, I’m cracking out some vintage Soupy Toasterson, going all the way back to Monday, February 14th, 2005 to bring you the aptly titled Holiday Special: Soupy Gets VD.

-------------------------

Soupy Gets VD – A Holiday Special
Soupy Toasterson sits at his computer, on Valentine's Day, and shrugs. Obviously, he's come to expect being alone for the holidays, more or less: it seems to be the line life has given him to tow, so tow it he will. However, he's not going to take it sitting down.

The computer is turned on and the browser window is showing a little box in which he can post to his blog. Despite being a freakishly self-contained person, he's going to prop his life on a pedestal for all to see and judge. The irony is not lost on him.

There seems to be something odd about Valentine's Day. It makes people think of people and things in ways that they'd rather not, all because someone decided that they felt like some candy, or that they wanted a reason to show someone else their love. Which is stupid. Valentine's is just another day on the calendar, and just another moment in the sun, no different than any other day or moment.

Yet everyone makes a huge deal about the day. Even I've been making a big deal of the day, and I would rather not. The question is... why? Why are we compelled to do these crazy acts of love on this day? Why are we trapped into doing the bidding of some big card company who, for all intensive purposes, is mind raping us on roller skates in order to get us to buy their stuff?

I don't have an answer for that. If I did, I wouldn't be thinking about how I'm currently not dating someone, and how it eats me up inside, and how this day, is making things worse, because I feel this innate compulsion to do something, to do anything, but I can't for various reasons.

It shouldn't drive me crazy. None of this should drive me crazy, but after nearly five years of wondering and waiting, and screwing up, and getting back on track, and the deep freezes and the pleasant thaws... I think the thought of having one day, just to smile and to stop with all of the crazy and all of the wondering and everything like that... it would be nice. It'd be a nice break from my life of sitting there, watching a seemingly endless stream of romantic movies, all the while unceremoniously and somewhat perversely eating a bag of chips while the two star-crossed lovers on the screen go through their own rocky road of love that'll lead to that inevitable end: that kiss, that'll just make everything better, and make the whole world seem perfect.

It'd be nice to take a glimpse at my own little happy ending, even if for a moment. It'd be nice to stop watching the people on the screen have their own little gloriously Hollywood ending, because it's all just a big ruse... a fake-out of people who have no real feelings for each other making the rest of us who long for something they can just pretend to have...

It'd be nice to have all those things, just for one day, even if that's all I get. But really... it won't happen. I know it won't happen. And I am actually being a complete asshole for posting this... this message where everyone can see it, because it will eventually get back to her, and when it does, it's just going to screw things up like I seem to have the tendency to do because really... how fair is this message? This "oh-woe-is-me" message... this plea for her to see us the way I can see us...

It's not fair at all, and it's an exercise I'm doing only to make myself feel better. So in the end, do I really deserve her love and attention? No. No, I don't. That's why I'm alone this Valentine's Day. And that's why I'll be alone after it. But at the very least, for now, I get to have my time. My glimmer, my day on the calendar, my moment in the sun. And in the end, it will be what sustains me until one day... hopefully, I will get to have more.

Hopefully.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.

-Soupy Toasterson

---------------------

Now, you’re probably asking me why I would trot out the one and only Valentine’s Day Special that I had in my files out on Halloween. Couldn’t I bring out something spooky? Something with some kind of horror bent to it?

Well, yeah, I could’ve. But I have some issues with Valentine’s Day that relate directly to Halloween, and thought now would be a great time to talk about it.

You see… I think Halloween and Valentine’s Day are the same damn holiday, only with slightly different connotations. Let’s look at the specifics, shall we?

Halloween, is a night for the ghosts and ghouls of times gone by to come alive and haunt the living. It’s when all the creepies come out and taunt the lonely, because they know that no one in their right mind is going to believe them when they find more people and start screaming about ghosties and whatnot. It is meant to induce fear, and can be quite scary given the right environment.

Now, conversely, Valentine’s Day is a day where the ghosts and ghouls of past relationships come to haunt the lonely. Being by yourself on that day… it can break a person. It can cause all their fears to rupture forth, as they think about the future, and how there is no one. And it’s damned scary.

Halloween is a time filled with masks and costumes. Everyone and everything can and will be something else, just because we can be, and no one will care, because… hey! It’s Halloween. That’s what everyone is supposed to do.

Valentine’s Day is a time where everyone puts on masks and costumes, pretending to be people that they aren’t. Everyone becomes extra sensitive and extra thoughtful, and no one seems to think this is out of ordinary because… hey! It’s Valentine’s Day. That’s the way everyone is SUPPOSED to act.

When it’s Halloween, you give all of the people dressed up in their spooky finery buckets of candy as a reward for all of their hard work in deception.

And when it’s Valentine’s Day, you reward those masked with thoughts and sensitivity with chocolates, to reward them for being someone you’d want to stay with forever, just for one day.

So yeah. Those are the broad and general reasons why Halloween reminds me of
Valentine’s Day. Any other reasons I have… well, they are more personal.

But for those, let’s just say I find no pleasure in noting that Halloween occurs in “The Fall”, and Valentine’s Day is nestled quite nicely in that time of year where everything is frozen.

And let’s just say I like it better when things are warm.

Those who need to know what that means will get it.

And with that, I bring this edition of The Crap Box to a close.

Until next time, stay lightly toasted.

Magnanimously yours,

-B. Schatz

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Sunday, October 30, 2005

The Everlast #00.5

(B. Schatz)

NaNoWriMo 2005 participant.The Everlast
Created by B. Schatz

Brave New Something - “Preparing to Create”
[Part 05 of a 05 part series detailing the pre-production of my 2005 NaNoWriMo contribution]

All the pieces are in place, and November is still about two days away.

It’s going to happen, right? It’s just gotta’ happen.

I’ve been working on hitting the minimum 1667 words a day, and most of the time, I’ve gone over and above that number. And then there were some days when I didn’t even get close. There’s been no real happy medium, which is kind of disturbing.

But that being said, I’ve written more content in the past few days than I have in the last year. I’ve got the entire month’s worth of content ready for the site in November, and right now, I’m just itching to start writing this story, as it’s due way before any of the other stuff I have coming up.

But I can’t. Not for two days.

It’s driving me crazy.

But I can do it: I know I’m capable, and I’ve got some good friends cheering me on, so long as Soupy doesn’t suffer as a result. And no matter what the outcome, it’ll sure be an experience.

The Everlast begins on Tuesday.

Until then, doubt the impossible, and always stay lightly toasted.

Magnanimously yours,

-B. Schatz

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Saturday, October 29, 2005

First Time Around: Chapter 04 - Halloween Special

(Doug)

Halloween special

I have worn the same costume for the last five years.

It's pretty simple. Jeans, sneakers, t-shirt of my choice, and my Hyatt hotel waffle-weave bathrobe.

Oh, I say it's different things. I add a t-shirt that says "Aliens Exist" and I'm a wandering lunatic. I add a giant spoon and I'm the Prince of Heck. It's defined by its accessories.

That year I added a messenger bag and towel and went as Arthur Dent.

You know, Arthur Dent. From The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He gets dragged around, through, over, under, and across the universe in his bathrobe.

Unusually, I decided not to go Trick-Or-Treating that year. I went to a party at somebody's house.

Boy, was that a mistake.

I hate parties. The music is never good but always too loud. You can't hold a good conversation with anybody but that's okay because there's nobody you want to talk to.

Sometimes the food is okay.

So why, oh why, did I go to this party? The answer's simple, and one echoed by withdrawn, introverted young men around the globe.

"She was there."

I wish I could say that it made a difference. As it was, I ended up spending most of my time on the porch, on a deck chair, in lotus position. Mary was there too, talking to someone, having a good time.

After an hour of that, it felt like my kneecaps were coming off, so I walked down the stairs from the porch into the backyard. Something told me to look back.

There she was, silhouetted against the light of the porch, a black outline that I already had learned to recognize.

I turned back around and found someone to talk to.

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Friday, October 28, 2005

The Everlast #00.4

(B. Schatz)

The Everlast
Created by B. Schatz

“Brave New Something #04: Here, There and Elsewhere.”
[Part 04 in a 05 part series detailing the pre-production of The Everlast]

So, I have a ship, and people. Now, I need a place for them to live.

Here and There
The Here and There are basically the yin and yang to the entire world. There, is where the mundane is most prevalent, it’s inhabitants having long since given up on all things fantastic. The here contains elements of the unbelievable and the impossible.

Both exist to balance the other, and if the scales were to be tipped into one direction or the other… let’s just say the results would not be pretty.

Elsewhere
The Here and There are where all the living and generally mundane people live and dwell. Rumour has it that Elsewhere - if it even exists - contains magics beyond even the strangeness of the Here.

The Jolly Old
This is the first locale that will be visited by The Everlast when the story begins. It’s a place of cobblestone shores and creatures beyond normal recognition. It’s also where our hero meets the first trial of his journey.

We’re only four days away until things really take flight.

Tune in on Sunday for the last of these pre-production features, and then on Tuesday, The Everlast will begin.

Magnanimously Yours,

-B. Schatz

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Remotely Pretty #06

(B. Schatz)

Remotely Pretty
Created and Curated by B. Schatz

#06 - It's Called Radar Love.

As the sun sets in the sky, I'm climbing up that radio tower.

"Broadcast this!" I'll scream from the tippy top.

And my middle fingers will seen froma around the world.

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Thursday, October 27, 2005

The Soupy Toasterson Show #03

(B. Schatz)

The Soupy Toasterson Show
Created by B. Schatz

#03 - It’s All the Same
Written by B. Schatz

Soupy went back into his room, and grudgingly pulled the shoebox out from underneath his bed.

“This is stupid,” he breathed, trying to convince himself not to open the box and take her picture out, “You’re over her. She’s over you. Do you got that? It’s done, and over.”

“C’mon,” the box replied metaphorically, “Take my top off. I know you want to see the goods.”

“Be quiet, you dirty metaphorical box of temptation,” Soupy groused, “I want nothing to do with you, hear me? Nothing.

“Then why do you touch me so?”

Soupy dropped the box quickly, and it clattered to the floor. Something sounded like it broke, and he immediately remembered the frame and the glass that surrounded the picture.

“Uh-oh,” the box mused playfully, “That didn’t sound good.”

“Shut up.”

“Aren’t you worried about her? She could be hurt…”

“It’s only a picture of her.”

“Don’t you care about her? I know you think you do, but obviously-”

“It’s not really-”

“-you don’t, otherwise you would’ve checked already.”

“I don’t need to-”

“Do you love her? You used to say you did, but she’s gone.”

“Shut up, you don’t-”

“She’s gone, so what does that mean? Does it mean that she never loved you, or does that mean you didn’t love her enough to find a way to make things work? Or-”

“Just SHUT UP, okay?” Soupy yelled, “I love her, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I loved her, I love her, and as far as I know, no matter how many times I try and tell myself that I am actually over her, I never will be, and I’ll live out every single one of my remaining days just thinking about what could’ve been, but you know what? She’s gone. She doesn’t want me, and me? I’m trying to respect that, and I’m trying hard to see if I love her enough to let her go, but to do that, I need you to just SHUT UP and let me try and deal with things the way I want to.”

The shoebox fell silent.

“Oh, hell,” Soupy muttered darkly, as he bent low, sat down, and opened the box.

The picture was fully intact.

“Oh, thank God,” Soupy whispered, his body relaxing. Then to the shoebox, he said, “You know, you really had me scared for a while there. Not that I should’ve been, but… I’m working on it, you know? It’s just… taking some time, is all.”

The shoebox said nothing.

“Right,” Soupy breathed, “Shoeboxes can’t talk.”

The Soupy Toasterson Show is filmed every Thursday before a live studio audience without the use of what you quote-unquote “normal” people call “pants”. We let it all hang loose, and if you can’t handle it, well… wear glasses, and draw little pants on the lenses, so when you look out at us, we’ll all be fully clothed. That should take care of things. The preceeding was and is both entirely true, and entirely false, depending on the moment and memory. Clear is the new black. -B

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Wednesday, October 26, 2005

The Everlast #00.3

(B. Schatz)

The Everlast
Created by B. Schatz

“Brave New Something”

#03 – Of Dreaming and Dreamers
(Part 03 of a 05 part series detailing the pre-production of B.’s 2005 NaNoWriMo contribution.)

When The Everlast sailed into my mind, it was just an idea: a means by which to transport the characters, whoever they may be, to all sorts of fantastic places.

However, there was a big problem with this premise: I had no characters.

If you’ve read any of my other work (I’m almost betting that you have, but that is neither here nor there), you’ll probably know that the main character is almost always me, in some way, shape or form. Now most times, this is not a conscious choice, but as I write, my mannerisms naturally come out when I’m writing the teenage characters that I tend to deal with.

But with this project, I wanted to have something different. I wanted the main characters to be other people, as far away from me as I can write them.

It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve begun the process, and all of the characters that appear in the first act have all been put into place. While I can’t divulge too much information about each of the characters (as much of that would be quite spoilerific), but I can give you the quick and dirty.

I'm not going to pretend like I'm doing something amazingly different from everything that's been done before. There will be, very early on, a hero figure, who will essentially know nothing about the new world that he steps into. He'll be a child, and there'll be something cooky going on with his parents. Who knows? They may very well be dead. (I actually know about the parents, but I don't want to trot out all the candy.)

There will be one character, who will serve as the catalyst of change. You know the one: they show up, open the gate to the new world, and provide us with an insiders perspective.

There will be several characters with what I hope are charming names and personalities. Right now, they're in place to fill out The Everlast, but they will play more important parts as things go on.

But by and large, there is nothing too terribly special about the general characters. However, I do plan to use a bit of subtle characterization just to make them more believable and (un)likeable.

And, of course, there will be many, many people who will populate the story, but I do like to have so semblance of wonder when it comes to my stories, so you’ll have to wait until they appear in November.

Be wary of The Dreamers…

Magnanimously yours,

-B. Schatz

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Love Under 100 #05

(B. Schatz)

Love Under 100

#05 – What Do You Think It Means?

Written by B. Schatz

I dreamed of you last night, and you were going to get married. I didn’t know to who, but I knew that I hated him with a white hot intensity that boiled my insides and made me want to scream.

But I couldn’t scream, because he was going to make you happy, and you would just hate me if I asked you to be unhappy with me instead.

I loved you enough to let you go.

I hope that isn’t supposed to mean something bad.

Love Under 100 is a weekly segment appearing on Wednesdays here on Two Fisted Toast! If you have a story about love and can tell it in 100 words or less, send it in to twofistedtoast@gmail.com. Anything recieved regarding this column that includes more than 100 words (not including the title), will be deleted. Our word counter is swift, and our word counter is merciless.

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Tuesday, October 25, 2005

The Everlast #00.2

(B. Schatz)

The Everlast
Created by B. Schatz

“Brave New Something”

#02 – Handles Like a Dream
(Part 02 of a 05 part series detailing the pre-production of B.’s 2005 NaNoWriMo contribution.)

Truth: I took the NaNoWriMo challenge before I even had an idea what story I was going to write.

Now, I know many people do this, and find this to be part of the NaNoWriMo charm, but me? I’m a guy who likes some idea of what he wants to do before jumping out into a big ol’ space of nothing. But still, for what still remains to be no apparent reason, I jumped in with nothing.

And I came up, riding a ship.

It was nothing special: very old, made out of wood, and a little tattered. After all, it had been in the Torrington family for a few generations.

Up until quite recently, it sailed The Low Seas, going where the jobs were, keeping the family in enough money to get by.

Now, it floats in the skies, visiting places of grand imagination, piloted by individuals, all younger than 18.

It’s called The Everlast.

And if things go right, it’ll take everyone to places they’re only dreamed about…


Magnaimously yours,

-B. Schatz

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Monday, October 24, 2005

The Everlast #00.1

(B. Schatz)

The Everlast
Created by B. Schatz

“Brave New Something”

#01 - Doubt the Impossible
(Part 01 of a 05 part series detailing the pre-production of B.’s 2005 NaNoWriMo contribution.)

“I’m going to write a novel in 30 days.”

“You’re going to start writing a novel in 30 days? Cool. Let me know when it’s done.”

“No, no, no, I’m going to write a novel inside the span of 30 days, start to finish.”

[Laughter.] “No you’re not. You’ll get burned out by the novelty after the first week, and you’ll never finish it.”

“No, this time is going to be different. I’m going to do it. Just you wait and see.”

“Oh yeah, different. Right. So who falls in love this time, and how are you going to relate it back to that girl of yours?”

“Um… it’s not going to be a love story. Not really. It’s going to be more like an all-ages fantasy tale. A big and sweeping ‘once upon a time’ epic.”

[Pause.]

[Much laughter.]

“Oh, quiet you.”

That was a conversation I had shortly after I decided to take part in this year’s NaNoWriMo. Note the sheer lack of support lent to me by this person. It’s quite heartwarming, don’t you think?

I mean, yes, the thought of me concentrating on nearly any project – let alone an entire novel – for one month is something that doesn’t seem incredibly likely. Couple that with the fact that I intend to continue with my weekly Soupy Toasterson schedule and work my two part time jobs… well, let’s just say the lack of confidence some people seem to have in me is quite warranted.

However, some good old fashioned lying would’ve been nice. That said, lies actually do very little to inspire my mind to write. What does seem to work in that department, is doubt.

Doubt is like liquid napalm for my creative process.

Don’t think I can do something? Great. Tell me. Explain to me how my hair-brained ideas aren’t only going to cause me to die alone, but that they are also going to kill puppies.

Lots and lots of puppies.

I’ll look at you defiantly.

Purely of its own will, my foot will boot you in the face. Hard.

I will stand upon your face, and then bend low.

“My writing,” I’ll tell you, my breath hot on your face, “is going to change the world. It’s going to move mountains. It’s going to destroy monuments. It’ll resurrect Abe fricken’ Lincoln, who’ll read my work, and then say just two words before the effort of speaking turns his body into dust:

“’Fuckin’ Abe’.”

And you’ll believe it too, because anyone crazy enough to kick you in the face and speak those words would probably kill you if you didn’t.

In short, your doubt will cause you to believe that I could kill you.

And seeing how I’m a scrawny 150 pounds of kitten-like fury, you’d be nuts to believe in the impossible.

So.

November.

The Everlast.

30 days.

50,000 words.

175 typed pages.

I dare you to tell me that isn’t going to happen.

Because I’m ready for the impossible.

Magnanimously yours,

-B. Schatz

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Sunday, October 23, 2005

NaNoWriMo

(B. Schatz)

Good gravy.

We're actually going to do it.

For those of you out of the loop, NaNoWriMo - or National Novel Writing Month - is about to fall upon us. The basic challenge of the month is thus: write a complete novel (at least 50,000 words... which equals out to 175 pages), within the course of one single month.

Yes, it's suicide. Yes, it will cause brains to leak, blood to boil, and the death of all who eat the muchables in our general vacinities.

But whatever. We're going to do it, and if we're going down, by golly, we're taking the whole damn world with us.

You can see my submission to NaNoWriMo on this very site, starting as soon as the first chapter is done in November. It's called "The Everlast", and a synopsis and character sketches will be going up over the next few days.

Dougie's submission is called "The Adventures of Little Timmy", and from what I've heard, it will be a very unique work that you should check out. At this site right here.

Both, if they reach completion on the due date of November 30th, will be published and availible for purchase at this site. Here's hoping.

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Saturday, October 22, 2005

First Time Around: Chapter 03

(Doug)

In which our hero takes a trip down memory lane.

It was first grade and her name was Melissa. It was all those years ago, and by some trick of memory I can still remember that.

I guess she was my first crush.
She, of course, didn't know who I was. Well, I assume she didn't. I didn't have many friends in the class and never tried to call attention to myself. Maybe she had some vague idea of a kid with my name in her class.

I remember that in my class we were required to have notebooks which we spent fifteen minutes at the beginning of the day writing or drawing in. Sometimes I would write something, some simplistic diary entry. Other times I would draw something in thick, shaky carbon graphite.

I remember turning to a page deep in my notebook, where I figured no one would look, and writing, in caps, Melissa. I then drew a frame around it and added some other decoration. It felt good to have my feelings personified in some way, even if it was just a hasty scrawl where I thought no one would see it.

And I remember lining up to go to lunch. Back then we had a rhyme... "First is the worst, second is the best, third is the one [insert favorite rhyme here]." I generally tried to be second, as did the rest of the guys. (Only the guys were stupid enough to really care about it.)

We were waiting and she asked me to watch her lunchbox for her.

Could she have known?

I said yes.

Could she have felt the same way?

I left the school the next year.

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Friday, October 21, 2005

Remotely Pretty #05

(B. Schatz)

Remotely Pretty
Created and curated by B. Schatz

Issue #05 - Crush You Under My Foot

I have a crazy, giant robot lust for you. I know this because my gears burn and my head spins when you walk by.

Also, giant robots are fucking cool.

Don't you forget that.

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Thursday, October 20, 2005

The Soupy Toasterson Show #02

(B. Schatz)

The Soupy Toasterson Show
Created by B. Schatz

#02- “As Seen On TV”
Written by B. Schatz

July 2005

“You’re still watching this?” Soupy asked Dr. V, while the television in the living room glowed with the sounds of Single Room Apartment.

“Marathon’s almost over,” Dr. V explained while Soupy sat down on the other chair in front of the TV, “This is the last episode. Ever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“So if I tried to talk to you about anything important, you wouldn’t actually hear me, would you?”

“Nope.”

“Great,” Soupy sighed, “So… what’s going on in this show?”

“Oh, well, this guy and this girl? They used to hate each other, but over the years, they sort of dated and grew close and stuff, but they just recently had this huge fight, and he got a job offer in some place far, far away, right? And they’re both pretending like they don’t care about not seeing each other probably ever again, but you can tell that they don’t want to be separated.”

“So it’s like every single other sitcom ever invented?”

“Probably,” Dr. V breathed.

“So… you know those girls that we’re both over now?”

Dr. V sighed impatiently.

“I’m trying to pay attention to the television. Can we talk about this later?”

“But I just had a breakthrough.”

“Series finale, Soupy. Last episode ever.”

“I put away That Girl’s picture,” Soupy breathed.

“…I thought you had already put away her picture,” Dr. V said suspiciously, eyes not moving from the picture on the television screen, “We both put away their stuff. I put away the pillow Tuba Girl made for me, and you put away the picture.”

“I put the picture in the drawer where I keep my glasses,” Soupy admitted, “So that when I took my glasses off, she’d be the first thing I’d see in the morning, and the last thing I’d see at night.”

“Dude. That’s lame. And creepy,” Dr. V said.

“And hopeless. I know. It’s not… it was never going to work, right? That’s why we both put their things away. We were supposed to be over them, right?”

“Right.”

“So… today, I just… I put it away. I really put the picture away, in a shoebox,” Soupy told him, “So as of right now? We’re both officially over them. Right?”

Dr. V said nothing.

“Right?”

“Shh… this is the important part.”

Soupy looked at the TV screen, and saw the scene begin.

She was looking inside their old apartment, which was empty because all of his stuff was moved out, and she couldn’t (…or wouldn’t…) find another roommate who would like to share a one room apartment with her. Then, she closed the door, and locked it.

She turned around.

And there he was, standing with luggage in hand.

The studio audience gasped.

Everyone watching (including Soupy) held their breath.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, drawing the scene out with the utmost emotional care.

He looked at her in that way that let everyone know what was coming next.

The wait was still excruciating.

“You know… I almost made it to the airport,” he explained, his voice ringing with that nervous bravado that scripted true love brought, “But then… then I realized that the life I had always wanted was right here with you.”

She glared at him.

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

The comment hung in the air, before he replied, “Well… I’m staying here with you, aren’t I?”

They continue to look at each other.

“Sorry, that was supposed to sound romantic, but-“

She topped him, grabbing his arms as she went up on her tip toes and kissed him.

The audience gasped again, and the whole world gave a silent cheer.

She pulled away. He looked shocked.

“I…”

She hit him hard in the stomach, and began to cry.

“Don’t you ever leave me again,” her voice warbled, “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He drew her near.

“Okay.”

And they kissed again.

And everyone cheered.

And the scene faded to black, as the credits rolled.

Soupy and Dr. V continued to stare at the screen absently.

“…I wish life could be more like a TV sitcom,” Soupy muttered.

Oh yeah. He was so over her…

The Soupy Toasterson Show is recorded in front of a live studio audience, just like all good sitcoms. No, the irony isn’t lost on me. All of the above did and didn’t happen, depending on the moment. I’ll be leaving you, if you don’t believe in me. –B.

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Wednesday, October 19, 2005

For the Last Time...

(B. Schatz)

...no. I am not Lucas J. Thompson. If you'll notice, the writing styles are the furthest thing from being similar.

That is all.

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Love Under 100 #04

(B. Schatz)

Love Under 100

#04 - Rock Star.
Written by B. Schatz

On the stage, I'm a rock star, singing into the microphone, looking right into the eyes of every single girl out there, making them fall in love with me, using my dreamy looks and ass-flattering pants.

Every single one of them is mine, you hear? Ever one is someone I could take away from you for one night, utterly destroying you forever.

After all, we all know that rocking out is all about two things: getting laid, and dying before anyone can touch you.

Love Under 100 is a weekly segment appearing on Wednesdays here on Two Fisted Toast! If you have a story about love and can tell it in 100 words or less, send it in to twofistedtoast@gmail.com. Anything recieved regarding this column that includes more than 100 words (not including the title), will be deleted. Our word counter is swift, and our word counter is merciless.

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Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Achamian - Chapter 01

(B. Schatz)

Achamian - Chapter 1 - Timen

by Lucas J. Thompson


A tall figure silhouetted by the moonlight limped into the musty bar. It wore a long dark green robe which concealed it’s face. From it’s side hung a long curved sword it’s sheath blood red. It was extremely tall, however, it was gaunt as if undernourished. The drunken miners of Aienst barely seemed to notice the menacing figure walking through the smoky, dirty bar that reeked of urine and beer. It crossed the bar with an odd air, as if it was royalty, even though it had to bend it’s neck slightly to prevent it from hitting it’s head on the ceiling. It stagger over, as if injured, to the fat bar-wench who was busy collecting beer glasses and humming merely.

“O’my I didn’t ev’n see ya d’ere sir” she exclaimed dropping her glasses which landed on the rough wooden floor and smashed into hundreds of pieces, “wh…wh…what would ya like sir?”

“Where issss Achamian?” it’s voice like nails on a chalkboard.


“Wha..Wha…” but she delayed too long. The thing, with amazing speed, threw off it’s robe revealing a scaly green reptile-like body with it’s head like a birds. It’s eyes were small black dots and the feathers on it‘s head and feet where white. It had a yellow pointed beak and folded green wings. It’s tail was nearly as long as itself and it had two ten inch claws on each arm instead of hands. Wearing only a pair of ankle length war mail pants and a torn mail shirt, it had several injuries caused by a blade, a stab wound on it‘s side, a large slash on it‘s left leg and a cut that went from it’s shoulder to it’s lower back. Blood as dark as a Barfraids’ soul covered it’s legs and back and it was holding it’s side in pain. With inhuman speed and strength it dug it’s claws into the women’s neck, blood sprayed on it’s face as she fell limp to the ground. The cut on it’s back began to disappear. It spun around to reveal itself to the rest of the people in the bar. The entire room grew completely voiceless. The only sound was coming from the crackling fire.

“WHERE ISSS ACHAMIAN??” it hissed whipping out it’s long curved blade. Ancient writing on the blade was red and it shone in the firelight. Nothing, not even a whisper came from the terrified crowd. It grew impatient.

“WHERE ISSS ACHAMIAN??” it screeched, but did not wait for a reply. It whispered something under it’s breathe and it’s eyes grew wide and light poured out of them. The shards of glass that lay at it’s feet began to rise and quickly shot up to it’s eye level. The crowd gasped and began to run to the entrance, but it was to late. The words now bellowed from it’s mouth and the pieces of glass shot out with extreme precision hitting every person in the bar and sending them hurdling toward the floor dying in pain. Blood sprayed on the walls and the floor was a pool of red. The things injuries were gone now and it put on it’s robe and clambered out the wooden door into the rainy streets of Aienst.

*****************************

The incense in the tent was merciless. Achamian sat up startled, he felt his wet cheek and strained to look where he was. The incense overpowered him and he coughed loudly. A naked body lay next to him, partially uncovered by blankets, groaning for warmth. Her breasts were wet in the light of dusk and her hair was cascaded over her entire chest and stomach.

I wonder how I ever won the heart of such a beauty.

Achamian thought as he laid a scratchy wool blanket over her tender body and kissed her on the cheek. It was warm and tasted of salt. He lit the candle in the centre of the leather tent with a whispered word and got dressed distracted by his own thoughts.

Had it been a dream? he thought, or a vision? I have never seen such a creature, it must have been a dream.

He sat up his blonde hair brushing his eyebrow as he grabbed his short sword and buckled it to his skinny waste. His black robe tickled the top of his feet and was held by a red sash around his waste. Wrapping his white quiver around his shoulder along with his white Elven Bow, he crept out of the tent and the wind brushed his youthful white skin. They had camped on the small island of Timen, in the north western part of the Sea of Väinguard. They had been delivering a message in Aiënst two days previous.

Achamian had been cheapened to messenger boy after The Jade Underground’s loss in the Jobia Desert. A crackle from behind, Achamian spun around hand on blade. But it was only Zareb. He was wearing a dark blue imperial robe and carried a longsword across his broad back. His face had seen many battles and his sword many victories. His long dark hair wheeled in the wind. Although Zareb was not gifted in sorcery he was an exceptionally good warrior and Achamian had relied on him in many situations.

“A little jumpy this morning? While you where sleeping with that wench I caught us breakfast!” he teased throwing down a pike with five rabbits. The sun was rising on the sea and men were already busying themselves with the ship below.

“Your just jealous of her beauty” Achamian retorted playfully , “and that you don’t have…”

“Are you talking about me again Achamian?” Seria said mischievously as she left their tent. Achamian thought in the sunrise she looked more like a queen than a Sorcerers lover. Her long blonde hair brushed against her simple brown servant robes. Her beauty rivalled the princess of Corinserin. She was bold, and that was what originally drew Achamian to her. Unlike most submissive Corinsi women she wore a dagger and a small bow.

“Well, if it isn’t the Queen of shit!” exclaimed Zareb with a smirk. He hoped to make her mad.

“Oh shut up you big oaf” she said as she punched him playfully in the stomach.

“Enough you two!” exclaimed Achamian, “We have much to prepare, the traders ship leaves today, they are done trading with the small villages on this island. If we miss it, another won’t be along for six months! Seria, you gather wood and Zareb and I will take down the tents.” They grumbled but agreed to the work without much protest, they where anxious to leave. They had been camping on Timen for several days without much to do but sit and wait for the traders to return to their boats.

There is nothing on this island but a few shit small villages and a bunch of looted ruins Achamian thought I can’t wait to get back to Cagenstien.

Packing up all of their personal things which where a few blankets, some incense, a couple canteens and several robes, he proceeded to take down there pole-style tent made of birch and cow hide and packed everything into two large packs, one slightly smaller for Seria.

Zareb joined him as he stood looking down the steep decent to the sandy shore, the sun was now miles above the horizon. Zareb was nearly a foot taller than Achamian. It made Achamian look short when Zareb stood next to him but the reality is that Zareb was unusually tall, but also wide and powerfully built. Achamian’s knowledge of him before they met was sketchy at best. He never really talked about it. Achamian knew that he came from some ancient city in the Jobia Desert, but that was about it. They had met in Cagenstien, the Holy City of Corinserin. He was working as a guard in the Jade Underground, the most powerful sorcery school in Corinserin, and the home of Achamian, when they met. Achamian immediately liked Zareb and they were soon very good friends and travel companions. He had become a powerful ally over the years and now they were almost inseparable.

“You’re a lucky man to have a lover with such beauty, even if she is bold” said Zareb passively. Achamian thought he heard a hint of jealousy.

“I know, I am a lucky man. Are you looking forward to the journey home?”

“Ugh, not really, long and no enemies makes for a boring journey” Zareb said with a chuckle.

“Always looking for a fight eh? I am looking forward to finally getting home, even though I am worried about the state of the Jade Underground.”

“They’ve bounced back from greater tragedies than a simple loss of a hundred or so footmen, most not even sorcerers. The campaign to capture the desert was frivolous anyway. Such a fool is Johan, to send two hundred men to do the job of an army”

“He can be foolish sometimes, but he is a good leader” Johan was the one of the members on the Council of Sorcery in the Jade Underground, he was in charge of military action, both defensive and offensive. Seria returned with the fire wood and placed it in the pit. Achamian lit it with a word and they began to cook the rabbit.

“Achamian” Seria said pausing to take a generous portion of a Rabbit torso, “when will you teach me to use sorcery?”

“You know it is not my place, you have the ability to learn, but you are much to old and I would be a much to strict teacher.” Achamian replied.

“To old, I could get any man I wanted, even greater men than you.”

“Okay, Okay, people usually start learning magic before the age of eight and your 23! But it is still not my place, you have to talk to the council.” What she had said scared Achamian.

“I have and they deny me ever time! You are my only chance to learn the holy arts and that is all there is too it! I don‘t want to learn destructive spells, just some tricks to make my life easier when your not around.”

“I’ll think about it.”

She did have a good point, and what could it hurt?

They ate there meagre, yet sufficient breakfast quietly. Achamian stared at Seria, he was madly in love and lust.

“What?” she asked feeling her mouth and cheek “Do I have something on my face?”

“Just marvelling at your beauty”

“Ugh, are you trying to make me sick??” added Zareb.

After they finished there rabbit they put on their packs and started the long decent down to the steep cliffs. The sun was now shining high above the horizon and it looked to be a hot day. It took them several hours to traverse the cliffs. Seria had wanted to stay at the top for the view, and Zareb for the safety from bandits. When they reached the bottom they made their way to the loading docks and started climb the wooden ramp to board the ship.

“Achamian?” came a voice from behind them, deep with authority.

Achamian wheeled around hand on blade along with Zareb and Seria, just as surprised. In front of them stood ten Väinguardian soldiers.

“Who asks?” said Zareb angrily. One of the men whispered something to the captain.

“We have a warrant for your arrest” said the Captain.

“On what charge?” exclaimed Achamian

“High Treason, you’ll fry for this one you fucking Corinsorin Spy!” He whipped out his short curved sword and began to move closer followed by his company, armed with pikes and short swords. Achamian seized his sword and took a defensive position. Zareb unsheathed his mighty longsword and put on a scowl while Seria grasped her small bow and strung it.

“I’m warning you were not to be messed with, Väinguard has no authority over this island!” exclaimed Achamian, but they proceeded to move closer.

Zareb delivered the first blow cutting a surprised soldier’s head clean off. Blood shot out of the headless neck as it collapsed on the ground. With a few words Achamian’s eyes grew wide and light poured from them. The words echoed though the cliffs and tore the bowels out of three men. They screamed in agony and fell to the ground staring at their own burning innards in terror. Seria released her bow and shot an unsuspecting soldier in the eye followed by another in the neck. Achamian approached the captain short sword drawn. A high blow delivered by the captain was easily parried and Achamian quickly replied with low stab that caught the surprised man in the leg. In one last struggle for survival the captain lunged at Achamian’s stomach grazing the side of his robe slicing it and causing a half inch cut below his rib. Startled Achamian stepped back holding the wound but quickly regained his bearings and stabbed the wounded man through the throat. He let him wriggle a while before removing the blade and allowing him to fall dead to the ground. To his left Zareb had disembowelled two more men and with a great blow of his longsword cut another man wielding two daggers. The man collapsed to the ground and Zareb stabbed him through the heart. The last man began to retreat but Seria strung an arrow and it stuck through the man’s calve. He fell to the ground in pain. Seria strung another arrow and it whizzed through his lower back and stuck out his stomach. Blood gushed from the fatal wound and the man fell to the ground eyes still wide in surprise.

“Where in the fuck did they come from?” exclaimed Zareb still puffing from the battle.

“I don’t…” Achamian began to get dizzy. His legs faltered, and his eyesight blurred. He saw Zareb sheath his longsword and run over to him.

What’s wrong with me? The wound isn’t that deep…

He felt himself fall to the ground and he looked up into the sapphire blue sky. He thought he saw a bird descending to the ground, but seemed to view it over a great expanse…. Darkness…


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Sunday, October 16, 2005

DigDug of Love.

(B. Schatz)

I was digging around my old blogs the other day (no, I'm not telling you where they're hidden), and ran across something I had called "The Big Book of Love".

Basically, it was meant to be something where I'd stop by and post my thoughts on the subject of love. The only reason being, people seemed to think I was the Internet Jesus of Love, and I thought that... if the people wanted it, I would deliver.

Turns out, I liked writing my ideas through fiction later. But I still like this little nugget, and thought I'd re-post it.

Re-enjoy, kiddies.

-The Maganimous B. Schatz.

Love isn't that feeling you get when you look at a person and wonder what it would be like to live with them forever. Love is the feeling that you get when you can see that forever, and would endure whatever pains come your way to see that forever come.

Love isn't the happy feeling you get when you feel like someone completes you: love is the driving force behind staying complete, and it will make you feel absolutely horrible. But if you truely feel love, you won't mind that in the least.

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Saturday, October 15, 2005

First Time Around: Chapter 02

(Doug)

In which our hero eats lunch and receives mixed signals.

Some Wednesday, two years ago

It was between classes. There were a couple of minutes until English, and Mary and I were loitering in front of the room. I was staring at my feet, trying to think of some conversation starter.

"So... What did you write your book report on?" Mary asked.

My mind froze for a second and then I remembered.

"It's this book called, uh, Afterzen."

"What's that about?"

"There's this German guy... Or maybe he's Dutch, who can tell... And he becomes a Buddhist monk and eventually a master and the book's his sort of rise to enlightenment."

Mary laughed. I felt relieved for no real reason.

"You remind me a lot of my brother."

I froze. Alarms went off. The sky darkened and broke, shattering like shards of glass.

Just like her brother?

I don't know anything about relationships, but even
I know that's not good.

Well, unless you live in Arkansas or someplace. Then it's a part of life. Nobody wants to go out with her brother! Well, some people do, but those aren't the sort of people I want to go out with. They tend to have too many teeth and not enough hygiene.

Just like her brother?

Well, that's it, man. You're done. Shot out of the water before you even dipped your oars in it.

Just like her brother?


The thoughts coursed through my mind like pike in a river, cold and fast. Not more than a second passed before I smiled weakly and said, "Is that so?"

Lunchtime, a few days later

Mary and I are eating lunch together, sitting on the grass, our backs up against a door. It had become something of a routine. I didn't know why or how it had happened, but I wasn't going to complain.

A kid walked up. I knew enough people's names by then to recognize him as Brad.

Brad was that kid who everyone hates. The kids who he usually hung out with constantly badmouthed him and the teachers watched him warily. He was annoying, hyperactive, and amazingly unfunny. He made me uncomfortable.

"So what," Brad asked, in that aren't-I-funny tone of voice, "you two are boyfriend and girlfriend now?" His hands made vaguely suggestive gestures.

I froze again, this time to watch Mary's reaction. I'd be damned if I was going to say anything to incriminate myself.

"No," she said. "I've got a boyfriend."

I nodded to myself. I thought so. She had made things pretty clear, hadn't she? Anyway, I had already assumed she did. She seemed like the kind.

"Oh, well, that's too bad," said Brad, and he wandered off.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. Well, silent except for chewing and so on.

Mary cleared her throat.

"You know... I don't really have a boyfriend."

What?

Dude, that's totally a sign! She told that guy she had one, but she told
you that she didn't! You have a chance! Somehow, I don't know why!

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Then, like an idiot, I finished my lunch and said nothing more.

Dougie is going to start leaving off the "two years ago" thing, since it's all going to be two years ago for a while. He also hopes that you will learn from his mistakes.

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Friday, October 14, 2005

Remotely Pretty #04

(B. Schatz)

Remotely Pretty
Created and curated by B. Schatz

Issue #04: Inside Your Head.


Remember that night we all got lit and walked around the park? You thought the lights were aliens, trying to steal your brain.

And we all laughed, because you were being ironic.

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Thursday, October 13, 2005

The Soupy Toasterson Show #01

(B. Schatz)

The Soupy Toasterson Show
Created by B. Schatz

#01: Where He Keeps His Memories.
Written by B. Schatz

July 2005.

“You’re an idiot.”

The television woke Soupy up with those kind and gentle words, and Soupy, in response to this kindness, cursed.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Soupy mumbled as he pulled himself up slowly to a sitting position, “What possess’ you to be so cruel?”

“Well, I’m staying here with you, aren’t I?” it replied, “A sane person would’ve left this place years ago if they had to live with you.”

“I’d be offended by that if you had legs,” Soupy explained, rubbing his eyes.


It was at this moment he realized he is having an actual conversation with the television set. That meant one of two things: one; someone or something had turned the television in his room on, or two; he had previously woken up, drank an entire bottle of STDs and fallen ill, only to gain consciousness without any memory of the incident and would shortly die from too much chlamydia.

He didn’t feel like dying today, so he was quite grateful when his roommate, Dr. V, sauntered into the room and sat on Soupy’s bed with a bowl of popcorn.

Until Soupy realized that he was also not wearing a shirt.

Soupy’s hands shot upwards and covered his nipples.

“What are you doing in my room?” he asked quickly.

“Waking you up,” Dr. V stated, mouth already full of popcorn, “And getting you laid.

“You see this?” Dr. V continued, pointing at the television screen, “This is called Single Room Apartment. It’s about a guy and a girl who through a series of wacky coincidences end up sharing this apartment that only has one room in it. Now see, at the beginning of the series, they both hated each other, but then over time, they both realized they had feelings for each other, and they keep on doing the whole on-again, off-again, will-they-or-won’t-they thing. Point is, over the course of the show? This guy gets laid. And today, in honour of the series finale that’s on tonight, they’re doing this marathon thing, so you can get some pointers while we watch.”

“I’m confused,” Soupy said, “Are you saying you want to have sex with me?”

“Do we live in a single room apartment?”

“No.”

“Well there you go.”

“Oh,” Soupy stated, “Well in that case, please get out.”

“Get out?” Dr. V munched, “But the show’s a classic.”

“And you can watch it in your room,” Soupy told him, “Or the living room. Or anywhere else where my nipples aren’t.”

“You still have that thing with your nipples?”

“They’re shy,” Soupy grumbled coldly, “Now get out.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing…” Dr. V told him while he made for the exit.

“And close the door behind you.”

Dr. V complied, and Soupy slowly let his hands fall from their place.

“I can still see you,” the television blared.

Soupy quickly drew up the covers.

“Stupid television.”

Reluctantly, he reached an arm out from underneath his cover and opened the drawer in his nightstand that contained his glasses. He put them on and then…

There she was.

Smiling at him.

From the picture frame inside the drawer, she was smiling that smile of hers that causes her green eyes to light right up.

That… that was when he liked them the most. Her eyes, that is. She only had one smile, and he would never describe her smile as “them” under any circumstances, but that was neither here nor there.

The fact was, he liked her eyes best when she smiled. Of course, that wasn’t to say there was a moment that he didn’t like her eyes, oh no. In fact, he found them to be quite warm when they were even just glancing at nothing in particular, or even glazed over as she looked inwards, thinking of things that no one else was meant to know.

But it was when she smiled… oh, when she smiled, they are truly beautiful and full of life.

And yes, she’d deny it. She’d always deny it, because she couldn’t see them herself. Well, not really. Sure, there were mirrors, but mirrors only show us what we want to see, and not what other people see, so she didn’t see it, not even when she tried to.

But it was there: that lust for life, that spark for the utterly wonderful…

It was there.

It was always there.

In his drawer.

Soupy did this every morning. The whole ritual, getting his glasses, and then… seeing her. It was kind of sad, actually…

She had broken up with him a few months before, and he still wasn’t saying good-bye. Why wasn’t he saying good-bye?

“Some of us,” the television stated wisely, “Have lives. And we live them. We move on from being stupid, emotionally retarded teenagers, and become adults.”

…Soupy hated the television.

But somehow… somehow…

He knew it was right.

That picture… her face… he looked at it every day. He looked at his past, every single day, and stayed there, hoping, and wishing that he could go back to that.

But he knew that he couldn’t. And it was about time he did something about it.

Slowly, as to not disturb the covers that cover his nipples, Soupy reached down underneath his bed, and he grabbed a tiny little shoebox.

He opened it gingerly, and moved his hands towards the photograph grabbing it carefully, looking at her face… her smile…

Her…



Soupy breathed.

He looked at the other things in the box.

They were other memories he… at one point in time… was reluctant to give up.

The ring made out of Starburst wrappers…

The saran wrapped red gummy bear…

The old Hanson CD with MmmBop on it…

And the green sparkle pen.

Soupy breathed deeply.

Each one of them, in their own little way, symbolized a chunk of his life, and a girl of the moment.

He had secretly hoped that this girl would be different than all the others. That she would be that one that he would stay with forever.

He honestly wished that That Girl could be… that girl.

But…

Soupy sighed. He told himself that he’s been hanging on long enough, and that… yeah, even though he thought it was kind of stupid that a cookie cutter sitcom was the thing to actually force this to happen… that he had to do it.

There were only so many ways he could say good-bye to her before he had to actually let go…

So he did.

The photograph floated down to the bottom of the box.

Just another memory…

The Soupy Toasterson Show is filmed before a live studio audience and a crate of frosted oranges, for old time’s sake. Some of the things listed above are true, and some of them, not so much. Also, events that have taken in place in the past have stayed there. Anything you’ve read isn’t an accurate picture of things in their current state. There’s never any place… for someone like me to feel terribly happy… -B!

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Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Two Fisted Keywords (October 12th, 2005)

(B. Schatz)

Most recent keywords used to find Two Fisted Toast (as used by real visitors):

"Allow me to introduce myself."
"Girls getting fisted."
"Is Scrubs cancelled."

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Love Under 100 #03

(B. Schatz)

#03 - The Night.
Written by Pips

Know that one magical night? The one where you and your partner sit and talk for hours on end? Where you learn everything about them? At the end when there isn't anything left to say, you just lay in one another's arms; you know that you belong with this person.

Now that they already know everything about you and you about them, you can have an even more magical night; because you skip everything up to holding each other. You lie there for hours on end in the arms of that one person controlling your thoughts.

Far more magical that way.

Love Under 100 is a weekly segment appearing on Wednesdays here on Two Fisted Toast! If you have a story about love and can tell it in 100 words or less, send it in to twofistedtoast@gmail.com. Anything recieved regarding this column that includes more than 100 words (not including the title), will be deleted. Our word counter is swift, and our word counter is merciless.

This week's edition was submitted by a reader. If you wish to contact the writer for comments or pointers, comment below or e-mail us at twofistedtoast@gmail.com with "Love Under 100 #03" inside the subject line, and we'll relay the message. Thanks.

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Monday, October 10, 2005

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving

(B. Schatz)

Apologies for the lack of service over the weekend. The Canadian national holiday, combined with some unexpected family issues made updating quite hard.

As most of you may not know, I have a very close cousin with terminal brain cancer. Sadly, she's just 13 years old, and this weekend, took a turn for the worst.

Updates will be given as required...

Normal service will resume promptly.

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Friday, October 07, 2005

Little by Little, Bit by Bit

(Doug)



When a band you like releases a new album, you're excited.

When you hear of a band that's released their newest album for free over the internet, you're gratified.

When a band you like releases their latest album for free over the internet, it's magic.

Such is the case with with Harvey Danger's "Little by Little."

File sharing is an ongoing debate in the media, in our government, and in our minds. It's currently viewed as being mostly illegal in use, although the legal precedent has been set that it's legal.

So it's nice to see a legitimate band using arguably the best, and most prevalent, file-sharing tool, BitTorrent, to distribute their new album -- completely legally, completely free, no strings attached.

As for the album itself: the lyrics are fairly derivative, the rhymes simple and unsurprising. But it's a case of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts; the lead vocals are strong, and some of the guitar licks are truly rockin'. It's enjoyable and there are more than a few songs that will implant themselves in your skull and refuse to leave.

"Little by Little" doesn't break any new ground, musically. However, it's another blow for Good in the fight against the evil record industry, and as more bands lend their legitimacy to the file-sharing cause, I expect that tools like BitTorrent will be used more and more, whether for paid content or freely-distributed files.

Dougie has used BitTorrent more legally than illegally and recommends you do the same.

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